


Strong as Gossamer

by Mithen



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Enhanced Senses, Flying Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to restrain a Kryptonian effectively?  Bruce has some unorthodox ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong as Gossamer

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [固如蛛丝](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277403) by [Lynx219](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx219/pseuds/Lynx219)



"Clasp your hands together and put them above your head."

Clark Kent did so, feeling more than a little foolish. Lying naked on black silk sheets on Bruce Wayne's king-sized bed was not exactly something he was used to yet. That Bruce was still dressed and standing--albeit only in a midnight-blue robe--didn't help matters at all.

"I don't think this is going to work," Clark muttered.

"Trust me," said Bruce. His smile at Clark was suspended somewhere between playboy-charming and vigilante-sardonic, and the sight of it made a _frisson_ go up Clark's bare spine, but he tried to keep the grumble in his voice.

"Unless you've got a heavy-duty red sunlight emitter installed in your ceiling, or a pair of Kryptonite-laced handcuffs--and I'm not too keen on _that_ idea, I'll warn you--this is not going to work."

"Clark, I know what I'm doing." Bruce said with some exasperation. He reached into the pocket of his robe and drew out--

A spool of silvery thread.

Clark blinked as Bruce unwound a length of it, so fine between his fingers that it seemed nearly to disappear. "All right," he said dubiously, "So...is that enchanted thread or something?"

Bruce held up his hands, the thread between his fingers, and tugged gently; the thread parted immediately. Unspooling a new length, he reached over Clark's head. "Hold still," he murmured.

"Wait, really?" Clark reached out and grabbed the thread. With a pull it parted, the ends drifting in the air. "Come _on_ , Bruce. It would be harder to _not_ break that."

Bruce's smile was smug. "Now you're getting it. Hands above your head again."

"I'm not getting _anything_ , and I'm certainly not getting restrained," Clark grumbled, but lifted his hands.

"Now hover."

"What?"

"I want you to rise about a foot in the air. You can do that, right? Just...levitate in place and stay there?"

Frowning, Clark let his body float upward away from the silk sheets. "Okay, but I think this looks silly."

"Oh, believe me, Clark, a naked levitating Superman looks anything but silly," Bruce said. He unreeled yet another length of thread and cast it around Clark's wrists. "Most people could barely even feel this against their skin. But then, you're not most people, are you? You have the ability to see microbes, to hear cells dividing if you concentrate. You can feel that perfectly well, right?"

"Of course I can." Indeed, as Bruce tied off the thread, he could feel each minute motion against his skin as it went lax and then tight. "Obviously I can't focus like that very often or the feel of my own clothes would drive me to distraction, but--"

"--but you're not wearing any clothes right now, are you?" Bruce's grin had a predatory edge to it. "In fact, the only thing touching you is that thread holding your hands in place." He pulled off another length of thread, and moved down to the foot of the bed, looping it around Clark's ankles. His fingers brushed Clark's anklebone as he tied it, a fleeting contact, and Clark felt a shiver go through him. "There," Bruce said, stepping backward and admiring his handiwork. "Now if you move your arms or legs even the barest millimeter you'll snap that thread."

"Bruce, this is the _opposite_ of bondage," griped Clark. The whisper of touch on his wrist and ankles was so light that he could practically break it by accident. "I can get free any time I like."

"Ah," murmured Bruce. "But if you break it, I stop."

Clark blinked. "Stop what?"

"Touching you."

"You're--you're not touching me."

"Oh," said Bruce. "Well, I guess I'd better start, then."

His fingers returned to Clark's anklebone, the barest brush of sensation. Bruce's touch and the two tiny silken threads were the only things he could feel.

"Oh," said Clark. "That's." He wasn't sure _what_ it was, so the sentence went unfinished, but he felt his cock twitch at the sensation.

Bruce's fingers slid upward, barely touching his skin as they skimmed along his calves to the delicate skin at the crook of his knee, making small circles against the flesh there. It tickled, and Clark shuddered as he tamped down the reflex to move his legs. The silk thread shifted against his ankles at the fractional movement; his sharpened senses could feel each fiber pressing against his skin.

Bruce moved his fingers in another small circle, and Clark's world seemed to narrow down to nothing but his touch and the mercilessly fragile bonds against his hands and feet. "Oh God," he said, caught in midair, captured by desire, "Don't stop."

"As long as those threads are intact," said Bruce. "Just as long as you can keep from moving." His fingers whispered upward until they cupped Clark's ass. "Oh, this is delightful," he murmured, and his other hand--Clark felt a whimper wrenched from his throat--slid up the top of his thighs to brush against his balls. "Access to all of your body at once." Clark bit his lip, desperately fighting the impulse to arch his back, struggling to stay still as Bruce's hands stroked against his skin, as his fingers trailed along the top of his ass, dipping slightly at the center, wandering back upward.

"And you thought bondage was going to be about power," Bruce murmured, his voice as gentle and cruel as the silken threads holding him motionless, "About restraining your brute strength. No, Clark, this is all about _control_. Doomsday can crush mountains. Darkseid can shatter worlds. But could either of them ever catch a falling child from the air without a bruise? Could either carry a vial of medicine at the speed of sound and deliver it unspilled and unshaken?" He leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to Clark's nipple, and Clark couldn't help it, his entire body lifted to meet that touch.

"Cheater." Laughter sparked in Bruce's voice, danced delirious along Clark's skin.

"Didn't break the threads," Clark pointed out breathlessly.

"You always take such foolish risks," Bruce growled, and for a moment his voice was all Bat.

"And get away with it."

"Don't think for a moment I won't follow through on my threat," Bruce said, but Clark could feel the curve of his smile against his skin as he nibbled and--oh God--nipped, could feel the delicate scrape of each tooth with preternatural clarity. He couldn't seem to turn it off, couldn't stop feeling everything Bruce was doing at nearly the molecular level, the rush of skin against skin, cells caressing each other in a ceaseless murmur of arousal. He could hear the blood in his veins cascading downward to pool and pulse at his groin, could hear the fibers of the silk thread rubbing against each other and his lust-sharpened skin. There was a healing scar on the palm of Bruce's hand, the edges rough against the softer skin, the echo of old pain a trail of sensation down Clark's body. Bruce's pulse sang in his fingers, a roar of blood surging to meet Clark's, and Clark yearned to bury his hands in that glory of dark hair and pull him closer--the thread binding him shifted and the strands cried a warning only he could hear, and he stopped dead again, his breath coming hard.

"Bruce," he groaned. "Please--I need you to--"

Bruce chuckled and let his fingers slide to the base of Clark's cock, not touching it. "What do you think?" he asked. "A blowjob? Make you hold absolutely still while I run my tongue up and down your length so you can feel every millimeter of it?" He leaned forward and lapped briefly at Clark's hip, and Clark's overwrought senses felt the touch of his tongue like hot velvet. "Or a hand job?"

Clark groaned aloud at the idea of those clever, calloused hands stroking his cock. "I don't--Bruce, there's no way I can hold perfectly still when I come. You've got to be--that's impossible."

"Well, if you do break your bonds, we'll never do this again, I assure you," Bruce said. "We'll just have to find out if that's incentive enough." With a sudden motion he shrugged out of his robe--as always Clark swallowed hard at the sight of all that glorious sinewy scarred skin. "But I don't think I'll choose either of those options," he smirked, pulling a bottle of lube out of a drawer.

"What--what are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Bruce rubbed his hands together, then reached out to stroke them along Clark's cock. The warmed liquid turned his touch to a gliding torment, and Clark gasped.

"You are _not_ going to--"

"--oh, but I am." Bruce pounced to stand on the bed with a single smooth motion, swinging his leg over Clark's floating torso. "Don't move," he murmured.

"Damn it, Bruce--" The words died in Clark's throat at the sight of Bruce's lean form standing over him, naked and glorious. His hair was falling into his eyes in a way that he never allowed it to do in public, and his eyes were full of dark laughter. Clark's cock gave an imperious jolt to try and meet the body standing above him, and Clark felt the silk strands on his hands and feet strain against his skin as he involuntarily moved the barest fraction. He froze with a groan, going as still as possible. "I can't do this," he whispered.

"Yes you can," Bruce said. He lowered himself until he touched Clark's heated skin, then slid forward along Clark's length, hardness against hardness until Clark could feel yielding skin against the tip of his cock. "You spend every moment in complete control of your body," he murmured, and settled his body down a bare inch. Clark stammered something meaningless at the sensation, and Bruce closed his eyes and took a breath. "Self-restraint is your constant companion, there may be no one in the world more perfectly controlled than you are." He sank a little lower, and Clark felt each motion in hallucinatory detail, soft velvet heat stroking and dragging and _God._

"Bruce," Clark stammered. His wrists and ankles ached where the threads touched, as if they were strands of cold fire, he couldn't stop feeling them even as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him completely. "You too, Bruce."

Bruce's breath was coming harder and he was stroking himself with long, languid motions. "But I don't have to control myself with you, do I?" He rocked back and let his body settle all the way, groaning as he put all his weight on Clark's body and Clark's cock sank deep within him. "Oh God, you've got enough control for both of us. I can just--" He shifted forward and his face tightened with pleasure, his eyes going dreamy, turning inward. "Mm," he said. "Clark. I--I need you talk to me. Tell me it's good."

"Rao, can't you _tell_?" He was transfixed with pleasure, every tiny shiver of Bruce's body against his threatening to unravel him entirely, plunge him into frayed nonsense.

"I need to _know_ ," Bruce panted. His hand moved spasmodically on his own cock, jolting as if he could barely keep it steady.

Words clustered and shifted in Clark's brain like clouds of stars, he struggled to catch some from the pleasure to give to Bruce. "You're so good," he managed, feeling the crushing weight of the words' inadequacy. "You always know what I need."

"What--what do you need, Clark?" Bruce was rocking back and forth, gasping at each motion. "Tell me quick, oh God, tell me."

"I need you, I need this, I need--this agony, this control, your mad beautiful will holding me motionless, making me feel this--" The heat of Bruce's body was a demanding torment, the silken strands around his hands and feet an anguish of pleasure. "I'm going to--I can't hold still when--"

" _Yes you can,_ " Bruce said fiercely. " _You_ can, only you, only--" His voice broke off and he shuddered, going still. " _Clark,_ " he breathed, and the sound of his voice and the sight of his climax spilling over his shaking hand drove Clark entirely past thinking. The _need_ to move seized him and seemed to throw him into space; with a titanic effort he crushed the need into nothingness and let his orgasm sweep through him like a solar wind, turning him to particles of light that neither moved nor thought, but--for a timeless, perfect moment--simply were.

The universe reassembled itself slowly from interstellar static back into a bedroom in Wayne Manor, where a sticky and relaxed Bruce Wayne sprawled across his floating body. With a long, slow exhalation, Bruce stirred and propped himself up on one hand against his chest. Shimmying up along Clark's chest--Clark made a small, indistinct sound of protest as their bodies parted--he reached up to gently pluck the thread binding Clark's wrists, still intact. The silk made a small sound only Clark could hear, a tiny note of triumph. Bruce smiled lazily, then tugged harder, and Clark felt the thread give way, and his arms were around Bruce almost before he realized it.

"Mm," said Bruce, and reached down with a long leg to hook the thread around Clark's ankles with his toe and snap that as well. "I never doubted you for a second." He smiled, and there was a bright and wicked edge to it. "Floating has so many possibilities, doesn't it? I could give you a blowjob while you hover above me," he said thoughtfully, and Clark heard himself make a small whimpering sound. "And then there's midair sixty-nine, that could be fun. Not to mention treetop sex or sex in the middle of a fog bank or perhaps me fucking you hard in the middle of a lightning storm--though there might be safety considerations there." He looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Well, we'll figure something out."

"Bruce Wayne," Clark said a bit faintly, the images in his mind making his voice wobble, "I never expected you'd be so insatiable."

"Well," Bruce murmured, wrapping his arms around Clark's torso and laying his head on his chest, "I _did_ say I didn't have to control myself with you, didn't I?"


End file.
